Nightmare on Halloween the 13th, Part 1 (MtF & FtM TG) (Patreon)

I feel like my entire life of watching cheesy terrible 80's slasher films has prepared me for this moment! Hope you enjoy this teaser of a start.

Also, for those who are interested, you can now pay up front to subscribe annually for my Patreon. It comes with a neat 10% discount!

From the twisted mind of director FoxFaceStories comes this new tale of horror!

Gregory Builder is an old horror director past his prime, with one last project in him, his most ambitious ever. With the help of dark magic, he is able to bring to life a real horror story, one in which his hired cast are physically transformed into classic slasher victim roles, all while a killer is unleashed into reality from the fiction of the script. These transformed and transgendered actors must escape before they are killed - because if you die in this movie, you’re stuck in your new role for life!

Next Part

Scene 1: The Thirteen Film

Janice screamed as the killer loomed closer, closer, closer. She held up her hands, her bosom half-exposed by her torn dress as she fell back against the dirt and leaves of the malignant forest. The dagger plunged down slowly, but when it did, her screams were punctuated by geysers of blood. 

The blood splashed upon the leaves.

It splashed upon the dirt.

It splashed upon her dress and limbs.

It splashed, last of all, upon the killer’s trademark gridiron facemask.

Janice gave one final shriek, and then her head lolled back, her life extinguished. The wind rustled ominously, and the killer stood over her corpse, silent as ever, his very presence a foulness in a foul place. He had won, there were no victims lef  t to claim. At least . . . for now.

JACOB WILL RETURN IN THE NEXT . . . HORROR AT LAKE BLOOD

Gregory Builder watched silently and expressionless as laughter erupted in the cinema. Numerous young delinquents threw popcorn at the screen, while others were too busy talking to one another or making out, not even remotely terrified by the dread climax onscreen. This had been the case throughout much of the film, and the horror director felt humiliated and angry that his vision for this latest instalment had fallen so flat. Horror at Lake Blood 8: Jacob Takes New Jersey had received by far the worst reviews of the entire franchise. Gregory Builder had always despised critics and never listened to them. It was the audience that mattered to him. A critic could go jaded from the brilliance of the silver screen, but not your average moviegoer. Which was why he always visited a cinema anonymously to see how a packed crowd perceived his film. And unfortunately for Gregory, this packed crowd was not impressed.

“Where have I gone wrong?” he muttered to himself as he left the cinema, trying to avoid anyone noticing that he was in fact the director of this future flop. “I was so certain I had the formula again. I was so certain!”

It was the question that followed him as he retreated back to his mansion. The interior was filled with props from the twelve horror films he’d created across his lifetime. Their titles were splashed across the enormous posters in his impressive hallway: Halloween Horror Show, The Djinn Master, Horror at Lake Blood IV: The Final Bloodletting, Dreamkiller Chronicles, and so on. He’d directed television episodes as well, tales of cannibalistic wendigos and torturer clowns, but it had always been his film work that made him proudest. There was something about making horror bigger than life-sized on that gigantic screen that just put a delightful shiver to his core. He’d been good at it too, a real horror master in his youth.

Now though? Now, he was a washed up director in his early seventies, his arthritis a damn pain, his muscles aching, his past a great stretch behind him, the future just a few short steps to a sudden and terrifying wall. His last few films were panned, but this one . . . this one threatened to be his last one, and what a shameful end to a once-great legacy it would be.

“I need to make just one last movie,” he said, reaching up to touch the one empty space of the wall where a final poster could be hung. “A film that can be my magnum opus. One that I’ll be remembered for, forever.”

It was at that very moment that a dread wind swept across the verdant trees in his front yard. It was dark outside, and with the lights beginning to flicker it almost made Gregory feel as if he himself was in one of his own horror films. 

And then suddenly he was, because with a flash of terrifying lightning a woman was in the hallway, her outline framed by shadow, her figure witch-like with her rags and cruel face half-hidden in her cloak.

Gregory screamed, falling backwards and only barely managing to catch himself from smacking his head on the hard floor. His old body struggled to move as the figure advanced, a witch whose gurgling laugh sent chills through his body.

“Gregory Builder, master of horrors and weaver of terrifying dreams.”

Her voice was raspy and unnatural, seeming to come from several places at once.

“Who - who are you? What do you want?”

“I am the Witch. The one from which all myths and stories of witches come. I did so adore your depiction of my legend in The Hag of Blair Wood. The final cabin scene had even me trembling. And it is for that compliment, and the great service you have done to spread fear throughout this world, that I come to you now in your more dire hour.”

Gregory trembled. What was this woman talking about? 

“You can’t be a witch. You’re an intruder. Get out of here, before I call the -”

The woman raised her hand and threw back her hood. Then she lowered a hand to her jaw and . . . distended it. Stretched it. Lowered it like that of a python’s jaw, well beyond the boundary of what was possible. It was a blackhole. It was a void. It was horror incarnate lurking within, the stuff from which his films were made of. This woman was a witch. The Witch, just as she had said. And strangely, something about that excited him.

“My God,” he uttered. “You’re magnificent.”

She grinned, pulling her jaw back up, snapping it together with a horrid crunch. “I am that, and so much more, and to answer your second question, I come to you with a proposal. One final film: your thirteenth. A horror greater than any other, and with mischievous magic to help fund and create it. A twisted tale that will leave even its creators enthralled in a horror, unfamiliar in their own bodies as they are chased and hunted, doomed to walk the earth in new lives if they fail. Real consequences for real horror. No one will laugh at this film, Gregory Builder, least of all your critics. Together, with me as your patron, you will have your magnum opus to terrify the world.”

A thunderous flash of lightning illuminated them rather dramatically, the gust slamming into the side of the house as if to emphasise her point. Gregory’s stomach churned just to look at her, but he was not just a horror aficionado, he was also its master. Slowly he stood and straightened his shirt collar.

“I’m listening,” the director said.

The Witch smiled.

***

The shooting location was remote, and Ruby couldn’t stand it. She and the other main actors were hoping for a quick check to star in the latest piece of shit directed by this has-been director, the one whose last name gave the profession he probably should have been involved with instead.

“Someone doesn't look too excited,” Sonny said, smirking at.

“Just want to get paid,” the olive-skinned woman said. She and Sonny were definitely meant to be the leads, she was sure of it. She was an attractive woman with a Mediterranean complex and wavy dark hair. She had done modelling before, and with her lovely C-cup bust and impressive rear, she knew she had the looks to make it through. Of course, she also knew she wasn't that good of an actress. Too flat, too wooden. It didn't matter, she just wanted to cash in on her looks, get some good cash, and hopefully feature in some better films before the public caught on. Really, she just wanted the good life.

Sonny, who chuckled as she brought her cigarette up to her lips, was also damn good looking. He was 6’1, broad-shouldered, and very muscled. The man was dark-skinned and handsome. With a leading man's face and a good dose of charisma to go with it. He was heading places and they both knew it, but for now the two were just cracking into the game, stuck in the middle of goddamn nowhere and trying to draw heat into their lungs through their cigarettes.

“Hey guys!” a voice called, walking from behind several sunlit forest trees behind them. “Mind if I join?”

Ruby gave a hard stare to the newcomer. His name was Timothy, and he wasn’t going places. He had neither the looks - he was a pale-skinned, freckled young man with hair that was too curly and a gut that was a little too big - nor the talent to make it big. She had the looks, at least, and God knew that Sonny had both. Timothy was just aspiring. He’d be aspiring for a while, she figured. Still, that puppy dog smile was hard to ignore. She gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Sure,” she said.

“Um, thanks!” he said, turning away an offered cigarette. “I hear Mr Builder will be starting the official production in a moment with some kind of creepy ritual. How psyched out is that?”

“Psychotic, more like,” Sonny said, chuckling. “Do we even had a script? I barely understand my own role in this. I’ve never worked on a production this haphazard before. I swear, this better be the break I’m promised, because my agent said this would be a sure thing for me. I’m seriously meant to leading parts, I tell you.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at this over-the-top machismo, but even she had to agree with him. “Well, no doubt I’ll have to show my tits as I get ravaged and savaged by the monster. Should be enough to boost my social media numbers, especially if we have a sex scene.”

Sonny grinned. “Here’s hoping.”

“They’re not that sexy, trust me.”

“Wow, you two have way more experience than me,” Timothy said awkwardly. He scratched the back of his head, playing with the curly red hair there. “I just figured this could be a step up for me. I’ve auditioned so many times. I won’t lie, I’m pretty desperate. Mr Builder is the only one that accepted me in casting.”

“Probably because he’s washed up,” Ruby said, leaving Tim to be a bit crestfallen. “Easy kid, I’m just joking.”

“I’m not . . . I’m not a kid.”

“Look like one.”

“Hey now,” Sonny said. “He’s trying. Don’t pick on him so much. Besides, not everyone can be a star like I’ll be. Bit parts and character actors are always needed. This guy looks like he could play a nerdy best friend or something.”

Timothy sighed. “That’s what I got typecast as on television.”

Before anyone could add to the conversation, a new figure entered into their little forest area. 

“Yes, yes, I’m telling you, this entire production is beneath me! For God’s sake, Malcolm, I’ve played Lady Macbeth! I’ve done Ophelia! I’ve starred in My Fair Lady and it was more than well received! Yes . . . yes I understand funding is important but - but this!? This is utterly absurd! The conditions alone are - can you hear me? God, it’s this damn reception again. I’ll call you back, if I ever can. If I get murdered here I want you to know it’s Gregory Builder who's responsible!”

The woman speaking was Anna-Lee. She was a gaunt, tall, librarian-looking woman who appeared a bit older than the others who were all in their early twenties. She was, in fact, thirty years old, and with her rectangular glasses, long nose, and straight hair, she had a rather severe look. They were all wearing warm jackets and trousers to account for the cold of the forest afternoon, but it was easy to see that she would likely wear austere and dark clothing otherwise. It would certainly suit her black hair.

“Not exactly excited for this piece of shit, are you Anna-Lee?” Ruby asked.

The woman sneered a little, though not at Ruby. “Not at all. Why is there no script? I have harangued everybody on set - if one can even call this a set - but there is nobody who can tell me what is going on.”

“I figure it’s just some of that horror master genius,” Timothy suggested.

“Madness, more like,” Anna-Lee said. “I’m only doing this for the paycheck. Once I have this, it’s back to the delights of the theatre for me.”

“Too bad,” Sonny said. “I’m using this as a springboard to the big leagues. If it doesn’t crater my career.”

“Just show off those muscles and you’ll be fine,” joked Ruby.

Timothy just looked sadly at himself. He was starting to regret being hired on. At least the others all had some aspect of themselves to sell if this went wrong, or go back to in Anna-Lee’s case. His own position as a future star had seemed bright up until this moment.

He was pulled from these sad thoughts by the voice of their shared director.

“We’re ready to begin, everyone! The inauguration is about to commence! Come on, come on!”

Ruby sighed, took another drag on her cigarette, then flicked it into the woods. Sonny put on his best ‘serious’ face, then followed after her.

“I think you bet on the wrong horse, Tim,” Anna-Lee said, exasperated. “But trust me, theatre is better.”

Tim had no interest in theatre, so that only made him feel worse. He followed the others to a clearing in the dark inland forest they were filming at, and found the aged director Gregory Builder standing in front of a great chalk circle in the dirt, one that contained numerous strange and eldritch - perhaps even satanic - symbols. There was something rather creepy about the trees here: they were bereft of life, their limbs mangled and twisted, their upper reaches extending over them as if they were mighty undead claws ready to snatch them all to some dread underworld. Crows cawed in the distance, and a light wind was the only other sound. The place felt wrong. It actually made Timothy a little excited. Maybe the others were wrong, and Builder still had it.

The director turned to the assembled cast. There were others, of course. Mary and Dave and DeShawn and a collection of extras, not to mention the camera crew. Still no writer, though. Just the weird woman at his side wearing a costume of revolting rags, her face disguised beneath her wretched hood. Ruby cringed at the sight of her, though Sonny and Anna-Lee just felt she was tacky.

“Thank you all for being here for my final film,” Builder said, voice croaky with age. “As you all know, this film is my passion project. Everything is secretive. Everything is under wraps. Even the title - Obsession at Owl Creek - that you have all been told, is wrong.”

“What?” Anna-Lee said. “We don’t even have a title! This is preposterous!”

“Oh, we have a title, my dear star. And you are the first to hear it out loud. We are about to begin filming one of the most titillating, entertaining, and downright terrifying cinema experiences ever made. There will be sex. There will be blood and gore. There will be darkness and fear. There will be scenes that will go down in infamy in the realm of all things horror. That will be the legacy of . . . The Final Cut.”

Timothy grinned. He loved the title. Sonny nodded, a little more certain now, feeling the drama of it. Anna-Lee just extended a hand and took a cigarette from Ruby. The rest of the crew politely clapped, but Builder wasn’t finished. He took a step back, motioning for all to gaze down at the strange chalk symbol before them.

“And now we begin filming,” he said.

“Without a script!?” Anna-Lee reminded him.

“Oh, the script will be you. All you. But you’ll understand in a moment. My darling producer here is quite the magic witch when it comes to inaugurating new films, and she has promised us a level of backing that will outstrip any other! You’re all about to receive new, ahem, costumes, that will help you not only play the perfect parts for this film, but also be believably terrified and uncertain in all the most convincing ways!”

The four main stars looked at each other, as did other members of the cast and crew. The witch-like woman stepped forward, and for a moment several of them saw part of her face. It was revolting, with warts, dead skin, wounds and even blood showing. Obviously, it was all fake, right? Ruby just rolled her eyes again, but Timothy felt something a little dreadful build inside of him. 

“Now, my children, it is time to craft a horror worthy of Mr Builder’s talents and . . . sacrifices. Gaze upon the circle, gaze upon the flames that rise from it, and gaze upon the roles you shall play in this new wasteland of fear we craft tonight!”

Her voice was everywhere, hollow and full of dread. It made each of them - even Sonny - feel a bit freaked out. But that small nudging of fear was nothing compared to what came next. Suddenly, a great whoosh of flame erupted from the ground, the sigils and symbols lightning up in an unnatural fashion. A powerful wind stirred, and hundreds of birds shrieked in apparent discordant terror all at once. The air grew thick with a horrid thrum, like a dying heartbeat.

“What the fuck,” Sonny said flatly.

“That’s gotta be . . . this is all effect, right?” Ruby asked.

Anna-Lee stared in shock.

Timothy actually grinned.

“Ready!” Builder cried above the throng as the witch began a dread chant. “Three. Two. One. MARK!”

Energy shot forth from the eldritch markings, cascading out towards the crew and gripping them instantly. They all began to shriek and cry and try to run away, all to no avail. Not even Sonny could pull free. The witch raised her hood, and they all now saw her glowing green eyes and undead visage.

“Now,” she said. “Time to ready your new flesh for the horror to come!”

And that was when the scariest part of all occurred. As they all squirmed and fought, each of the cast members began to change.

The Final Cut was about to begin.

To Be Continued . . .